Center of Wealth: a gift of presence

A scathing lifeline descends upon the premise unnamed. As precious frayed, as it ever was first believed.

Finding one's center is never as simple as making a decision, a statement or declaration that says "I will find a grounding today"

Earth rests beneath.  immobile yet spanning a distance beyond the present scope of script.

nestled warm beneath one's root, too often becomes the occupation rather than the desire.

We travel expansive depths to share our blood unto the soils in which we sow our seeds within/upon

limitations are not endings.  chapters are intermeshed, entwined. codas everlasting.  Plots are open, free to challenge, to explore.  We are afar despite within our beds we sleep.  We are home in spite of the location of our presents find our blood within.

Limitations are bound only to this realm.  limitations have not been proven.  They are every only guesses garnered upon the soul by the souls of the untested

************************************************

I have a story to tell.  It may not be of interest to anyone other than ghosts.  Yet I can speak to them.  That is, if I have the proper crystals to meditate upon. and if you'd hear them sing, then song would inspire you to locate future's boundaries yet unclaimed.

Darkness breaks before the dawn shimmers it's first quivering fragment of light.  Dawn glides gently into the blanketing surrounding of dusk, enveloping us in a deluge of evening that is as unique as it is not rare.

We move between many worlds.  We shift seamlessly in and out of.  We are unaware, yet knowledge does indeed subconsciously divide.

Fortune is not measured by coinage accrued.  if it did... well, many of us would be as poor in health as we are in walking daylight,

a burden. inhaling our castes. to haunt everlasting.

distorted then. askew. yet pierced with fire, singed by frozen blade. disoriented yet not afraid. for conscience bears wherewithal. A knowledge harnessed deep within. albeit brutal the manner to which our days be spent. regretfully, the tides may disencumber what's been made, what we've toiled our entire lives to find, work towards, and yet the tides may disencumber if deemed to constrain the growth our gardens had originally been planted for.

****************************

Solstitial flagellation is found and you know not the accepted course.  Stars scream as you encounter the laceration's of truth's gaze.
burrowing
burying
time's
loving
spell
deep
in-tune   to a silence that sleeps as peaceful as most lions wake

*********

Indigo guidelines harbor the beacons evenly placed upon the placid calm.  Silent refrains echo from above, beneath.  Breath is abbreviated, yet full.  Eyes are clouded and murky, but see we do.  Touch is invisibly felt, yet immersed we thrive. words mean nothing when in-submission.  thoughts though, they build temples upon stars.

a grey net meshing collapses over our nestled tombs.  As if materials from this realm can ensnare those who walk the avenues unseen.

Eyes. alit. Reawakened. Whole. Renewed. Alive. free

***

Lifetimes are but a rambling of decades.  Decades a corroboration of years.  Years collect the seasons full.  Seasons take their wisdom from the months endured within.  months succumb to the days that fight direction.  Days are comprised of hours.  Hours then of minutes.  Minutes of seconds slipping silently yet not as slow as one would seem. Patience though is timeless
Presently oblivious
a present to the blind
unbroken/parallel
lines move
and our necks can see
forward, up and wide
as if movement was never meant to be, yet be, it does just the same

the spine straightens
and the ghosts
well, they remain….and that is fine
for they should not inspire fear
we should not run,
instead smile
invite them to the comfort that they seek
thank them always
for their presence
is a gift
that
only
the grounded can properly conceive.

*


Karin's opened up the bar and is at the helm of this week's Poetics at D'verse.  Stop on by, read her article and those poems written in response to her offering of Presents/Presence.

For me, I thought i'd do a guided stream of consciousness piece, that incorporates some eastern concepts while trying my best to stay as true as possible with this week's theme.

For Kent, God Rest

1/13/1961-10/18/2011

67

Anchor & Heart

Without your strength

Without your sight

The strongest line would have fell apart

50

Much too young to leave

The game

Much too young to leave

The field

3

Selected by peers

As the best to line up center

Yet for everyone you came to meet

Left you so much the better

13

Seasons shift

Southern born

But always remembered

Fondly in the North

Kent Hull played professional football from 1983-1996.  He began his career with the now defunct New Jersey Generals of the USFL, blocking for Herschel Walker’s 2411yd rushing season.  In 1996 he joined the Buffalo Bills.  The Buffalo Bills went a dismal 2-14 during the 1985 season.  Steadily over the next few seasons the team got better, much better.  Along with the elite players positioned throughout the roster, Kent Hull anchored what some still consider, at least those in Buffalo, the best Offensive Line in the NFL.  This dominance continued for five seasons.  Five seasons that led to appearances in 5 AFC Title games in a 6-year stretch (winning 4 of them). 

Kent was more than just a football player; he was a part of the community, and just a great human being.  I had the privilege of meeting Kent Hull on 2 occasions.  The first was your typical meet and greet thing.  I was a sophomore in High School at the time and I just remember how friendly, all the guys were really, but especially Kent, who gave off that aura, where despite just meeting you moments earlier, that you were lifelong friends.  The second time I met him it was two years later, in 1992, where I just happened to bump into him at a local restaurant.  I never subscribed to the idea that pro athletes write away their anonymity in public because of their status in the community.  So I had no thought of approaching him at the table he was dining at; I still can’t recall the faces of those people he was out with.  But then his party was passing my table on their way out of the restaurant and he looked at me, and said, “ You look really familiar.”   

That was the extent of the off-the-field memory for Kent Hull, but I always found it strange that he would stop to acknowledge a kid sitting in a restaurant.  I often wonder if he genuinely recalled that autograph signing two years earlier.  I’d like to think I made a positive impression on him, but more than likely it was just one of those things.

Over the years and especially this morning on local talk radio I heard many stories about that team from the early 90’s.  This morning though the personal side of Kent Hull really came out as various former players and coaches reclaimed, albeit briefly, their place on the local airwaves.  They mentioned stories about Kent taking them under his wings, teaching him all the tricks and tools of the craft, virtually forcing them to get better.  They told stories about his interactions with the sides of football operations that you never hear about, the ticketing department, promotional groups, pilots etc.… and how he left a lasting impression with virtually everyone he met.  Then there were the callers who would recall their moments with Kent, whether similar to my own, or having a beer with him at a local bar and so forth.

In my opinion he was the greatest Center I’ve ever watched play.  Hopefully Canton will call his name soon; I’d always thought of his chances for enshrinement to be, not a case of if, but a case of when. 

Kent Hull passed away yesterday from an apparent heartache.

Kent Hull, the player.  Kent Hull, the person.  Both will be missed.